


samson

by shinrakishitani



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Danganronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst I guess, Loss of Virginity, M/M, We Die Like Men, and how i feel whenever I cut my fucking cosplay wigs, and regina spektor song, based on a Bible story, based on how i imagine it's like to lose your virginity, no comfort, oumasai, saiouma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinrakishitani/pseuds/shinrakishitani
Summary: ouma loses his virginity and dissociates after iruma cuts all his hair off, but at what cost to himself?
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	samson

Kokichi found himself face up in bed with short hair staring at his almost translucent reflection in the mirror. His purple curls and tangles didn't build up over and around his pale, boney and angular face anymore, it merely swung by his elf-like ears and twisted up at the all too soon ends. Stained by wine and lighter evenings was his hair, yet his partner's own blue green was like a murky lake on a less melancholy day. Saihara was a lake, his pale foam coloured skin and gold as dead, sun bleached grass eyes, his calm personality and all too often watery eyes. And his hair had not been cut, he had not been sliced of his pride and power. Kokichi was Samson and Iruma found herself as a spiteful Delilah Ouma could never love, or even tolerate, or even stand. He couldn't stand a girl (a whore) who stripped him of all his power and his only unique quality.

He felt outstandingly outwitted and discarded by everything. Shuichi sleeping next to him so peacefully had no idea how devastated and inept his boyfriend felt. How he felt a biblical story in his bones and in his hair. How he felt a sour sense of comeuppance that held him by the bone marrow and laced into his core, how it violated his pure and somewhat narcissistic brain and felt like millions of years of torture and wet socks and throwing himself harder and harder and harder harder and harder and harder harder and harder and harder until he got the high score or won. It was saccharine and molasses in his mind, it was pumping his veins with sugar and hurting his now diabetic heart. Yet, après moi, le déluge, in times like these acting was more important than needles of insulin or exercise or preparing his heart for the aftermath of breaking to pieces on the floor. The cold inherited blood and the lame inherited his legs, the bald inherited his now gone hair. Kokichi felt shaved, stripped, out and naked. 

He swung his spindly legs over the edge of the bed and padded over to their shared bathroom to look at himself, to look at his hair, to limp. He felt gone. He felt like a slut. He felt liberated. Saihara and him had taken that last step to comfort Ouma, to comfort a now man. He had laid Ouma beneath him and kissed him so soft the whole time while tears formed in his aubergine eyes from the horrendous pain of being taken whole. Being taken to the hilt and how Saihara didn’t understand despite being a stupid bottom that it burned but it burned so sweetly and infected him all the way to his blushing chest and neck. 

His hair was cut by Miu Iruma and he and he had now indulged in a primitive human desire, a disgustingly self indulgent desire, a desire that everyone had, his fingers clenched the marbled, swirled countertop and he realized he was having an episode, as the world left his gross fingertips, spreading his painfully average disease to the world. He couldn’t help a feeling of fucking despair spreading through his stupid stick body and his stupid baby brain.

Loss of virginity was what made Kokichi Ouma feel like he lost his power, loss of his hair made him feel forced into yet another role, and his wandering and horrifically intrusive and hateful thoughts made him feel out of control. 

Miu Iruma cut his hair and a detective who didn't even care enough to cuddle him stole his last bit of deniability that he was anything more than human, had proven to him that his self restraint could weaken for another and he could fall on his back with legs open for such a stupid man. 

And Kokichi Ouma felt desperately melancholy and anxious and like a tire pumped with air had been placed in his brain. He felt his heart racing as he looked at his lover sleeping soundly in the dim light of the warm bathroom light and hazy moonlight streaming between the curtains. He felt a sense of dramatic, horrible shame when he saw his hair effected him so deeply and cut him quick to the core with the feeling of panic so fast, it was just something that would grow back. And Shuichi would come back, and he would go back to bed, sound with socks on his small elfish feet and thoughts flooding his mind as he attempted to sleep even a wink.

Yet rather than sleep he found himself focusing steadily on matching his breathing to Saihara's deep, horribly slow breaths. Looking at Saihara and his ocean body and hair and eyes and face and nose sharp and regal as a birds in profile, the way he curled his body around a pillow and cuddled up with it the second Ouma had left his side. Saihara was probably having the best post nut nap of his entire life, Ouma was not able to even close his eyes without feeling ill. 

"Shuichi?" He felt weak. He felt powerless for once and felt like getting held and whispered to until he fell asleep, but it would be rude to disrupt Shuichi's slumber just because he was scared he'd gotten fucked too early in life despite begging for it. 

Shuichi didn't hear him.


End file.
